


Star-Crossed Crusaders

by AntaresofJuly



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 02:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11958216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntaresofJuly/pseuds/AntaresofJuly
Summary: There's nothing sadder than a friend turned enemy.





	Star-Crossed Crusaders

  
1\. Shadow Beneath a Star：There is nothing sadder than a friend turned enemy.

 

He froze.

After all these years, after all they went through... was this really the end?

"What are you doing, Bruce?!" Tim yelled, already hovering over Harvey, performing first aid to the pierced wound. He didn't pull out the nail right away, but wrapped it tightly with gauze. Clever boy, his stagnant mind obligingly supplied.

"Don't just stand around here... Call the ambulance!"

He snapped out of it.

No. It must not be.

 

2\. Starlit: What we are and what we meant to be.

Have you ever had this feeling: that there was once someone too precious, too important, that you dare not touch, fearing that even the slightest contact with your darkened soul would inevitably contaminate him with its poison.

Still, the one you held so dear, the one you dared not gently touch, shattered right before your eyes.

\---

The first time he met Harvey, it was a sun-warmed morning.

He was nervous. Needles in hands and feet. He did not belong, of course he understood. The jovial atmosphere of this place was not for him. Once again he questioned himself: "Why can't I just be like the others?" And once again he knew it was a pointless question; he already had the answer: he was not "normal," and thus, this would never work. But he had made a promise to Alfred; he had to at least try. One year. So on the first day of college, Bruce sat stiff on his dorm bed, deliberately not looking at the open door, waiting, patiently, for the roommate to come.

So that the whole icebreaking debacle could be swiftly done. He just wanted this damned day to be over with.

Then it would come the sleepless but quieted night.

"Bruce Wayne, are you?" He glanced up; Harvey Dent was standing by the door, an old black leather suitcase sitting by his legs, sunlights on his forehead. The young man's handsome face lit up with a vibrant but still polite smile. A Greek statue, given the breath of life and permission to move around in the modern day.

Smile was not as much an effort as he thought it'd be. "Yes, I am." He said. "And you are Harvey Dent. I've read your student profile." He stood up, suddenly realizing it might not be the most appropriate ice-breaker, and forgot to offer a hand to shake or arms to hug. He stood motionless, stiff as a rod.

Harvey Dent merely nodded at him, and proceeded to pull his luggage into their closet, no fuss. Maybe, he thought, maybe, they could make this cohabitation work after all.

Bruce's gaze inadvertently followed the other boy, whose elegant frame was almost radiant under the morning sun. Yet, something familiar resided in Harvey's warm hazelnut eyes, darker, hidden, but not invisible, and it soothed Bruce's anxiety, calmed his restlessness enough for him to bask in the sunlight Harvey Dent had brought in through the door. Maybe, there was truth in Alfred's advice, he could take in some lights from other people.

And Harvey Dent seemed to be a decent candidate.

What he didn't know at that moment, what he only learned much later, was the purplish belt-prints under the crisp white shirt.

\---

They were strangely compatible.

The rich boy and the downtown kid, lived in the same city their whole life, yet they might as well come from different dimensions.

Unlike Bruce, everything Harvey had, Harvey earned. His hardworking friend possessed a ferocity under all the good manners and polite smiles: whatever obstacles laid on the way, Harvey stubbornly charged through. He was straightforward and unbending to a fault, but to Bruce's amazement, he never once gave in to anger, even under testing situations.

Compared to Harvey, Bruce felt like a standing tornado barely contained.

  
To Bruce's immense delight, they shared quite a few common interests to converse about: social justice, political corruption, the law, crime and punishment, justice... Their friendship took off like a rocket, like love from the first sight. Soon, they were virtually inseparable. They talked about everything and almost anything. Harvey insisted that Bruce should study pre-law with him, but Bruce...

Bruce was unsure of where he was heading to still, unlike Harvey, who already set his life's direction.

"A healthy, functional legal system," stated the young man on the upper berth, "is the only way to ensure real justice."

"I'm sure you are right to an extent," Bruce stared at the planks overhead, "but..."

"But?"

"What if," Bruce murmured, "what if, the system itself is the problem?"

"We talked about it before, Bruce. We need to get inside of the system. Fix it."

The boy in the lower berth was silent for a few moments, then he said with voice almost too low even for himself to discern, "what if I can't... get in."

"Huh?"

...

"Did you say something, Bruce?"

...

"Hey, are you still awake? Brucie?"

...

"....Alright then. Good night."

Bruce stared up at the planks, knowing it would be another sleepless night.

\----

Harvey never talked about his family or childhood.

He didn't put up any photo, or souvenir.

He didn't have many personal belongings, most of which were books, plus one double-headed "lucky" coin. He carried it everywhere.

Mentioning violent crimes made him even more serious then usual.

Sometimes, he would suddenly fall silent, as if he was somewhere far away, and then suddenly he would resume business, like nothing had happened.

He almost had no other friends other than Bruce. He told Bruce he was his first true friend.

He accepted Bruce, all his strangeness and bad habits.

Hanging out with Harvey made Bruce feel very comfortable indeed.

\----

"You look like you don't really want to go, Harvey," Bruce scoffed, "Tell me again why we shouldn't just head back. This is a waste of time."

"Bullshit," Harvey insisted firmly, "it's just a night club, and we discussed this. We are legal adults now, my dear friend. We can't have never entered a club."

Neither one of them had ever set foot in such a place. Purely out of curiosity, on one clear night they pumped their chest... and paraded into a club out of the west gate of the university.

They sat on the tall stools by the bar, ordered some booze neither of them recognized, got drunk, and was chatted up by some strangers. Someone recognized Bruce, it was inevitable in public spaces; one thing led to another, and, somehow, they ended up in a bar fight. That was the first time Bruce saw Harvey show any capacity for violence, the first time he saw Harvey's fit of rage.

Harvey's brawling techniques were dirty but efficient. He grabbed a stool and hailed it at a hapless opponent. Alcohol and anger changed his countenance to something otherworldly. He should look almost scary to bystanders, but Bruce only remembered a sharp excitement upon the sight, blood drumming in his ears.

Afterwards, he thought he'd be disappointed, at himself, at Harvey, but what remained was a strange, familiar feeling of intimacy.

A resonating violence.

"You never told me you fought like a pro" was the first sentence Harvey muttered when he was brought back into the holding cell. His eyes dull, throat hoarse. 

Sober now, Bruce felt terrible, but he propped himself up, forced on a smile, and put his hand on Harvey's shoulder, squeezed. "Probably was the karate classes I took in high school. I'm glad I haven't forgotten all of them." He said, "Listen, I called Alfred. He said some lawyers will handle everything. Nobody will leave any record today. We will be out soon. It will be fine, I promise. Everything will be fine."

The way Harvey's eyes lit up by relief almost overcame any guilts he felt for yet again turning to his privileges. But it didn't matter, he couldn't let Harvey's dream die in a stupid, insignificant bar fight.

\------

Before the end of the first semester, Harvey was doing good in pre-law. Bruce was still wandering hether and thether, still a misfit, unable to see through the fog of the future.

Ever since they found out their pathetic low tolerance of alcohol, neither had tried it again. But this time, to celebrate the end of year, Harvey brought a few bottles of beer. They settled on the rooftop of their dorm building, leaning against the railing, sipping it slowly away.

Gotham was freezing in winter. Most students had left for home. Neither Bruce nor Harvey wanted to go. Their breaths turned into white mist in the crisp winter air; the world silent under their feet.

Stars were bright; the level of intoxication just right; Bruce watched Harvey tipping the bottle to take in a mouthful, his chin up high. A few stray drops of the amber liquid slid down his chin and neck, disappearing into his collars, his warm, chestnut-colored hair waving in the winter breezes.

For a long time now, Bruce had forgotten what it meant to be happy, but in this particular moment, he almost tasted it once more, in a faint, quiet serenity. For half a year, Harvey's existence anchored him. It was like a quietness between storms, but it was not enough, still not enough... He wanted to explain, to tell Harvey; he wanted... more, he...

Harvey's eyes were closed, corners of his mouth lifting up. He was enjoying the moment. He looked happy.

When Harvey opened his eyes again, Bruce hastily averted his gaze.

So he didn't see, couldn't see, when he was looking elsewhere, the look in Harvey's eyes while he looked at him.

They never did see.

\----

Years later, Bruce would contemplate again and again, why at those times he didn't notice. He should have, he **knew**. But he was too absorbed in his own misery, too busy containing his own instability, too frightened of contaminating the only, brightest star in his dark dark night.

He throw away all the signs.

  
Years later, at the Moment, Harvey would remember, he had always knew, maybe even before Bruce himself, subconsciously, that Bruce was meant for something greater.

So he kept his distance.

 

  
3\. Stardust: When all is said and done

  
Bruce's hand was still shaking when it left the communicator, but he did not pay it any mind. He knelt by Harvey's side, reached for his hand, and clasped it in his own.

\--

"No one will love you like I do, Batsy." Joker laughed manically. "They don't know how crazy you are. How many pieces! But I know, I love you for it!"

Bruce felt a sliver of cold in his spine, for the nagging bit of truth in the madman's talk. He proceeded to distract the Joker. Two-face had already sneaked up behind him. The former DA plunged at the clown; he clubbed the wild green head with a broken iron pipe, Joker dutifully fell down. But he did not stop. He kept striking down on the fallen enemy with a mad vigor. The end of the pipe falling like heavy rain on the writhing body.

"Shut up!" Harvey bellowed, the two split-parts of his face united in one consuming wrath. "Shut Up! Scum!" He added an emphasizing beat to each word. "Love. Is. A. Sacred. Thing. You ain't deserving to even begin to utter the word!"

Bruce's fist collided on Two-Face's nose. "CALM DOWN, Harvey!"

Joker was rolling on the floor, cackling like a proper maniac.

\---

"Stay with me, ambulance is on the way. Harvey, Stay with me!"

He held the back of his head, preventing blood from blocking the air passage. But Harvey's eyes were slowly losing focus. Maybe this time really was the last.

Batman bowed his head, an invisible weight weighing down on his shoulders and back, pushing him lower, lower, until his mask covered forehead almost touched the other's.

"Harvey," he murmured. "My Harvey."

My Harvey.

My barren half, my insane brother. Mine.

After all these years, Bruce finally let out the forbidden words.

Two-face's breathes became slower, and irregular. Then, it stopped. Without a pause Bruce opened his jaw and performed mouth-to-mouth.

As their lips touched, the night from too many years ago emerged once again in the kneeling man's head.

I should, Bruce thought. I should have... from the very beginning.

If then he had the courage to ignore the sounds of the world, if he had made the brave choice, things would never get to this point.

Except, it was never the sounds of the world that hindered him, was it?

Finally he heard the sound of siren.

\---

"Seems it's out and in again." Harvey closed the door. A bitter smile spread across his divided continence.

He uncuffed him. Two-face swiftly kneaded his wrists, then turned towards the gates of Akham.

Batman hesitated.

"It doesn't have to always end like this," He finally said. He no longer bothered to change his voice. No point anymore. "You... could come with me. I'll find the best doctors, therapist, the best lawyers. I will help you."

Harvey, Two-Face, stopped, and stood unmoving for a long moment. Then he continued his walk towards Akham. His tone brisk and light.

"Already too late."

 

4\. Epilogue: There's alway the next time.

Bruce landed on the top of Wayne Tower.

He crouched on the once highest spire of Gotham, scanning down the city, mapping the crisscrossing, radial roads that extended into nothingness, watching the retreating van that held Two-Face inside, gradually vanishing into the night mist. He kept on watching, lights from a thousand homes, the lit and shadowy alleys. Gotham rises with the night. This horrendous monster once consumed his parents, friends, family, and it would continue to consume, his soul, all of him.

Batman watched his city.

 

Fin


End file.
